


A window to the past

by freddi11



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Flashback, I had this idea and ran with it, Minor Character Death, Other, but if that happens to be the case I'd be besides myself, completely unfounded theory about the origins of jon snow, crackship alert, davos being sensible, it could have happened, stannis less so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddi11/pseuds/freddi11
Summary: Castle Black, the night before King Stannis' army sets out on their long march south to reclaim the Iron Throne.A long-held secret is being revealed which changes the king's life - and Lord Commander Jon Snow's life with it....Just go along with it.





	1. Grey

He could not sleep.

That was nothing unusual during the last years.

Too much had happened since that feast in King’s Landing. That day he had realised Queen Cersei was cheating on his brother with – well, her own brother.

Robert and Renly had died gruesome deaths. He had experienced a crushing defeat on Blackwater Bay, near starvation in the frozen forests around Winterfell and just a couple of days ago he had survived the greatest battle Westeros had seen in more than a century.

And in the morning, they would set out for White Harbour, where Lord Manderly’s fleet already lay  waiting for them – and attempt to settle the war of succession once and for all, or die in the attempt. The fleet was twice as large as it had been in the first battle of the Blackwater. Two days ago, six ships had already set sail from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, planning to link up with the others. Justin Massey and an as yet unknown number of warships were on their way from Braavos.

This time, if fate was kind, they would have a realistic chance of defeating the Lannisters and winning the throne that was his.

Enough to keep a man awake at night.

But this was only half the reason why Stannis was currently pacing up and down in his bedchamber on the King’s Tower, wrapped tightly in the black woolen cloak one of the Wildlings had given him. It smelt strangely of bear, but he did not mind. As long as it kept him warm, Stannis would have worn almost anything.

No, there was something else that had made him choose to retreat early and leave the others at the “feast” Tormund had prepared. Something he had never spoken about to anybody. Not even Davos. He had almost forgotten about it until the day he’d arrived with the army at Castle Black almost a year ago.

When Stannis had first seen the young man with the curly jet black hair, up in the freezing wind on the wall, he had thought a ghost had appeared. He instantly reminded Stannis of her. Her and that wretched evening all those years ago. Stannis’ only digression. One of the few moments in his life in which he had allowed himself to be led by his emotions.

The young man had her eyes. Piercingly grey they were, a bit like the light of the full moon on a pitch dark night sky. Of course, grey eyes were a trait passed down the generations in House Stark.

But Stannis had always known – would always know that particular colour.

It seemed absolutely foolish. For all he knew, she had died of an illness in the Tower of Joy. The men who had rescued her were all dead except for … what was his name? Howland Reed. And he was miles away in his holdfast in the swamps.

As much as he had tried to convince himself it was ridiculous, in the following weeks and months his feeling had become even stronger. The more time Stannis had spent with him, the more he had recognised just how similar they were.

The same stubborn determination, the same strong sense of justice, the same commitment to what they believed was right. Maybe being raised by Eddard Stark had influenced his beliefs. Yet…

Stannis had kept it all to himself. Mainly because he had dismissed it all as a folly from his younger days. It had only been one evening after all. What could have happened?

Apart from the fact that he had to be extremely careful around his elder brother. If Robert had ever found out.. his hatred for the Targaryens already knew no bounds. But if he had heard his brother was… Stannis would have been as good as dead. Robert would have killed him himself, butchered him with his warhammer and fed the corpse to the dogs.

He had planned on keeping his secret until – if they won in King’s Landing. Nineteen years was enough to carry a burden. What harm could a few more weeks do? The boy had been raised by the Starks, so it was not as if he was entirely without family. And if Stannis died on the Blackwater, the entire story died with him.

But tonight’s events had unsettled him too much. The way the young man – the Lord Commander – had endorsed their battle plan, had spoken of the crimes of the Lannisters and rallied the knights… She would have approved. She was such an unusual woman. And some of the things he said could have directly come from her.

If only the old maester had been alive. He would have been the one person on Castle Black who could have helped Stannis in this mess.

Even so, how could he ever approach the subject with anyone? Would anyone listen? Selyse and the Lady Melisandre had – and this was something Stannis Baratheon would have never believed himself capable of thinking – thankfully both passed away. He could not even bear imagining what his wife would have said. And Melisandre? Had she known?

While Stannis was trying to collect his thoughts, someone knocked on the door. Somehow he knew who that nightly visitor might be… “Enter!” he said.

How did the man always find him when he needed .. well, company?

Davos was standing on the doorstep of his bedroom, his own woolen cloak, on which the Hand’s badge sat proudly, around his shoulders, carrying a candle and a worried expression. “Sorry to interrupt you, Your Grace. I.. I just thought I… I can’t sleep, I’m thinking too much about what might happen in King’s Landing when we return. And I..” He stared at the tips of his boots.

Stannis had to smile. “So you thought you would come to me,  because I would likely be awake as well? Because you needed someone to talk to?” “Exactly.”

The king breathed a sigh of relief and hoped his Hand did not notice. “That is exactly the way I have come to know you, Ser Davos. Sit with me for a while. There is something I need to share with you. Something which, so far, has been a secret. I do not know if I am following some fanciful theory and I am in desperate need of advice.” Davos looked intrigued. “Can I trust on your absolute confidentiality?”

“Of course, Your Grace. I swore an oath.” the other man said and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Stannis took a deep breath.

“Well, how to begin… it all happened at Harrenhal, almost nineteen years ago.”

How did Davos manage that? His presence was enough to help Stannis to calm down. Davos would be one of the only, perhaps the only person who would not judge him. Perhaps he would even know how to approach the boy.


	2. Tower of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An entirely unfounded theory about the events at the Tower of Joy.  
> Warning: quite sad, obviously.

“There is no need for concern, Edd. I just need some time on my own.. to think.”

 The steward had been worried when he saw the young Lord Commander leaving his quarters in the middle of the night. But then, Edd Tollett reflected, he was used to this habit of Jon’s. Whenever he needed to make an unpleasant decision or felt unsure about the way he was leading the Night’s Watch, Jon always sought the solitude of Castle Black’s godswood. What answers he found in the cold maze of trees – trees with faces that always scared Edd, especially in the middle of the night – the steward could not figure out. Yet it was not his position to question the actions of the Lord Commander.

Jon pulled the hood of his cloak down over his head and held on as tightly as he managed. The snowstorm that had been a constant companion since the day before the battle had finally eased. But winter had now well and truly come. Perhaps they would have seen snow in King’s Landing already. If they knew what it was.

As Jon made his way through the deserted courtyard, stopping every now and then to shake the snow out of his cloak, his thoughts went back to the evening’s assembly. For a split second after he had finished his speech, memories from Bowen Marsh’s betrayal had come back with a vengeance. Back then, he had also felt confident he had the support of his men – only to be attacked in the middle of the night by four he thought the most loyal.

But this evening had been different. The battle against the white walkers had somehow healed the rift between the brothers of the Night’s Watch. They had survived the greatest threat Westeros had faced in more than a thousand years. And they had seen, if they still doubted, that their young Lord Commander was more than capable of fulfilling his duties.

For Jon Snow, raised by a father who was always careful not to show him too much affection in case it would infuriate his wife, getting praise for something he had done was still a feeling to get used to. He wondered what Eddard Stark – or his uncle Benjen – would have said if they had seen him flying into Castle Black on the back of the green and white dragon.

Yet it was not the aftermath of the battle that had led Jon to seek the advice of the old gods.

In the course of the last year, he had got to know King Stannis of House Baratheon better than any other lord of the Seven Kingdoms. They had spent a lot of time together, debating battle strategies and the alliances that existed between the lords and ladies of the North. At first Jon had tried to stay neutral, as was his duty as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. The Watch’s purpose of existence was to guard the northern border of the kingdom. Not to meddle in the affairs of its rulers.

As time passed, however, Jon found himself growing somewhat fond of the man who was so different from his elder brother, King Robert. He had tried to deny it to himself but without much use. Stannis’cause was just, he was the heir to the throne. And Jon had as much reason, if not more, to want the defeat of the Lannisters as had Stannis’men. First and foremost for his father and Robb, the brother who had been as close as a friend. But also for his sisters and – he would never thought himself capable of any kind of emotion towards her – Lady Catelyn, butchered at the Twins when she had tried to defend Robb.

The Lannisters had made his family bleed. And they would have to answer for that. And Stannis seemed to be the only one capable of delivering that answer to King’s Landing.

But had he gone too far today? He had, with that speech, more or less announced that the Night’s Watch had chosen to support King Stannis. Whatever had carried him away, Jon did not know.  the men had applauded, cheered his words. In that moment, Jon had been glad about their reaction, but now, on his own, he wondered if it had been so wise. If word reached the Lannisters… The Watch had just regrouped after the battle against the Others. Queen Cersei’s revenge would be terrible.

Jon had reached the gate at the eastern wall which led to the forest. Checking that nobody had followed him, he pushed the handle on the small wrought-iron entrance and stepped out into the calming silence of the woods, making his way towards the small cove of the godswood.

Snow and ice were glittering faintly on the weirwood trees in the moonlight, giving them a silvery shimmer. The ground was thickly covered in soft white layers that almost reached up to Jon’s knees.

Carefully taking one step at a time to avoid stumbling, Jon made his way towards the center of the godswood, the heart tree where he had knelt with Sam to say his vows all those months ago.

The tree seemed to have expected him, or so Jon felt. Perhaps his father’s conviction that the weirwood always recognised those in need of help was not so fanciful after all. Looking up at the face of the tree in front of him, Jon knelt in the snow.

“Gods, I need your advice. Was I right in supporting King Stannis?” he whispered and closed his eyes..

and found himself transported to a small room high up in a tower which he did not recognise at all. The room was almost empty but for a gigantic four-poster bed with red sheets, a wooden basket surrounded by unusually blue roses, scattered on the floor and a small fire burning in the chimney on the other wall,  Its octangular windows opened on rolling hills, covered with lush green grass and a few frees that were in full blossom. Obviously somewhere in the south, but where?

As Jon moved a bit closer to the bed, it was all he could do not to cry out loud in shock.

A  young woman was lying on the mattress, her eyes closed,  her pale face drenched in sweat. She had beautiful long dark hair and wore a dirty – blood-stained, Jon thought horrifiedly – gown that must once have been purple. Obviously, the woman was suffering from a threatening illness, but what was it? And could he do anything to help?

No, of course not. This was a vision the old gods had sent him to help him solve his question. The woman was quite likely unable to see him. But why had they brought him here, to this scene of sickness and grief? What had it got to do with Stannis?

As Jon wondered what would happen next, he heard shouts most likely coming from the staircase leading up the tower. Someone was about to enter the room, but who? Had they come to save the woman, to bring her a maester or someone else learned in medicine to ease her suffering?

Nothing could have prepared the silent observer, hidden behind a curtain, for what happened next. The door leading into the room flew open with a crashing noise and two knights, who by the looks of them must have run the entire way, burst into the chamber.

Jon instantly recognised the taller of them who leaned against the wall, panting and wiping his face. He was quite young, almost Jon’s age, and wore a grey and white cloak over his armour on which – unmistakably for someone raised at Winterfell – a direwolf was painted in great detail. The man’s hair was the same dark shade as the woman’s on the bed. Eddard Stark. His father.

And now Jon also knew who the two others had to be. The short, stout man dressed in green and blue next to his father could be nobody else than Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch. And the woman, who seemed to have fallen asleep, was therefore – his aunt, Lady Lyanna of House Stark.

Lord Eddard had never really spoken about his sister. All Jon knew was that after Robert Baratheon’s victory on the Trident, his father had ridden west to look for Lyanna who had been captured by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen a few weeks after the infamous tourney at Harrenhal. He had taken a few men with him but only Howland Reed had survived the skirmish at the tower where Rhaegar had held his captive.

So this had to be the day they had found Lyanna.  But what had happened to her?

Anxiously, Jon watched his father hurry over to the four-poster-bed where the young woman lay. His face was pale, full of concern. “Lyanna. Wake up. It’s me, Ned. We have come to rescue you.” he said and wiped her brow with his cloak.

Lyanna Stark took some time to realise who was adressing her.

Her voice was hoarse, thick with pain, when she at last replied: “Ned. And Howland.” “We will take you to the nearest village. I have already alerted the healer there that you might need her aid. She will help you.” Howland Reed said and fixed the young woman with a worried look.

Lyanna’s face took on an even paler shade. Speaking seemed to cause her an unusual effort. “I’m so sorry. You have come too late. I know I won’t leave this tower alive.” she whispered.

Eddard, who until now had tried to stay calm, could not stifle a desperate cry. “No, Lyanna. Do not even dare to think so. We will carry you down the stairs and ride to the village as fast as we can. The healer there is extremely proficient. She will know what potion you’ll need to get back on your feet.” The young Lord of Winterfell tried to hold his tears back, but in vain.

“What happened?” asked Howland Reed quietly.

Lyanna did not immediately reply. Instead, she pointed to the basket on the floor, circled by the strange blue roses. Looking closer, Jon realised there were several soft blankets stuffed into the basket. Something had to be inside. Something that needed to be kept warm. Perhaps…?

“This is my son.” Lyanna whispered through gritted teeth.

“Your..? Rhaegar’s?” Eddard grabbed the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. It seemed to Jon his father was fighting against a mix of emotions, trying to keep his fury in check. Why? What could Prince Rhaegar have done to Lyanna?

This time it took even longer until Lyanna answered. Every word seemed to increase her pain. “No. Not Rhaegar. When he took me… I was already with child. I spent the last nine months here, watched and attended by his knights. For the last three weeks I have been on my own. And yesterday.. yesterday the boy was born. I have not eaten properly in four days. The birth.. it was too much.” Now she had begun to cry as well.

Eddard knelt by her bedside, taking one of her slender hands in his. “If only I had known earlier. If only Rhaegar had given us a hint where he had taken you. I would have left Robert to his “kill all Targaryens” – mission and rode as fast as lightning to help you. You could have given birth in a safe place, in a castle, attended by a maester. We would have raised the boy together.” He was trembling, the tears falling thick and fast down his face.

Lyanna grimaced in pain. “Promise me one thing, Ned.” “Whatever you want.” he said softly. “Promise me you will look after my son. Take him to Winterfell. Raise him as your own. And when he is old enough to understand, tell him who his parents were. Tell him about me. About our childhood. Our adventures. And that tourney.” She closed her eyes and lay still for a while.

“Lyanna.” Eddard leaned towards her. “There’s one thing you haven’t told me. Who is his father?”

The young woman’s voice was almost inaudible.“Stannis.”

“But how? When?” Her brother looked incredulous. “That tourney in Harrenhal. Before Rhaegar crowned me as his queen. We.. we stayed up longer than everyone else. In the kitchen. Talking at first. Then…”

“Does he know?” Lyanna shook her head almost invisibly. “When the boy… is old enough.. write to Stannis. Tell him. My son has … a right to see his father. Do you promise me that you will… let Stannis know, Ned?” “I do.” he replied.

“At least my son is safe. I can die.. gladly knowing you’ll look after him.” “I will. He will be safe in Winterfell.” Eddard held her hand in both of his now. “What do you want to name him?”

“You can choose that. I can’t.. I can’t think clearly anymore.  Soon I will see Bran and Father again. Just promise me you won’t forget me. Promise me, Ned.”

She closed her eyes and lay still.

For a while nobody spoke. “She’s gone, Ned.” Howland Reed said sadly and laid one hand on his friend’s shoulder, comforting  him. Eddard Stark had broken down, hopelessly sobbing, clutching his dead sister’s hand.

His grief was interrupted by the baby in the basket who had apparently just woken up.

The infant’s crying helped to let the Lord of Winterfell snap out of his trance. Slowly, Eddard walked to the basket , picked the young boy up and held him tenderly in his arms. “He’s got her eyes.” he said in a voice that sounded small and far away. “How will I ever explain this to Catelyn?”

“We can think up something on the way home. Let’s go, Ned. It is already growing dark.” Howland Reed replied. “And Lyanna.. we have to take her back to Winterfell. She is a Stark, she deserves to rest in our family’s crypt.” Eddard said, putting the baby boy who had gone back to sleep, in his wicker basket and covered him tightly with the blankets.

With his face full of regret, his eyes red from weeping, he turned towards his sister, still and calm on the bed. “I will name him Jon, Lyanna. I think you would have liked that name.” Eddard said and had to smile despite it all.

 


	3. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis and Jon have a chat.

The vision ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Suddenly, Jon found himself back on the snow in front of Castle Black’s heart tree. His heart was racing and he was trembling from head to toe.

His entire life had turned out to be a lie. No, perhaps not a lie, that could be too harsh a word for his father… no, his uncle’s actions. That was what Eddard Stark had meant when they parted on Jon’s journey to the Wall. The thing he wanted to talk about when they next saw each other.

For Jon had understood the message the old gods had sent him. And now, he also knew the answer to his question. One he had never thought possible.

The baby in the basket in that tower…. was none other than Jon himself. He was the son of Lyanna Stark … and Stannis Baratheon, the rightful king of Westeros, presently residing in the King’s Tower at Castle Black. The man Jon had been supporting more and more in the course of the last year.  Now he knew what had made him act that way.

But what would he do with this revelation? To keep it to himself seemed more than reasonable. Jon had a fairly accurate idea what his sworn brothers might say if they found out. Sam, of course, would be supportive, but Sam always was. And now he had just won back their allegiance it seemed foolish.. Besides, a man of the Night’s Watch was not allowed to have a family. His brothers would surely remind him of that.

Did Stannis know? Had his.. uncle told him? Most likely not. Yet there was something in the king’s manner that made Jon wonder.. Especially the way Stannis had watched him while he was adressing his men. As if he was lost in an almost forgotten memory. Had he been thinking about Lyanna?

Troubled, Jon made his way back to the castle. He knew he had to confide in someone. But who? And how would he act around Stannis in the morning without giving away the fact that.. he knew? Or was it wiser to leave that matter until after the war was over?

Somehow he found himself thinking of Ygritte. What would she say if she knew?

 

 

 

“No, listen to me, Your Grace.” Davos sighed exasperatedly. “I believe the Lord Commander – Lord Jon – has a right to know about your suspicions. He deserves to hear about the Lady Lyanna and yourself.”

“You make it all sound so easy, Ser Davos.” Stannis replied, seemingly calm and unaffected by his Hand’s manner. “But how do you believe Lord Jon is going to react? If I am wrong about it and word gets around – and it does spread quickly inside the walls of this castle – can you imagine what the damage to my cause will be? Can you imagine what they will say?” He leaned against the wall, staring out of the window at the round silver moon.

“I don’t think you are wrong about this, Your Grace.” Davos said softly.

Stannis turned around to face his Hand. There was just a hint of a smile on Davos’ features, but his expression was as warm and reassuring as always when they sought each other’s advice.

The king was momentarily lost for words. “It would confirm some of my own observations. You are so similar in so many ways. Besides, I have got some experience with all that. Call it a father’s instinct.” Davos added, now smiling broadly.

“And how should I…?” Stannis asked.

“Just tell him. Tell him exactly what you told me. Do it now.”

Feeling like his feet had turned to lead, Stannis left the bedchamber. Davos was right, he always was. So why was he so afraid all of a sudden?

Perhaps because he had begun to realise it could very well be true.  That evening at Harrenhal – the first and only moment in his life in which he had realised what it might be like to… Perhaps it had been more than a night. Perhaps this was the explanation to all the strange events.

What would Jon say? Would he believe it?

 

Jon had just reached the foot of the Guards’ Tower where his quarters had been moved to. He had decided he would keep the revelation of this night to himself. At least until Sam returned from Oldtown. His best friend would most likely know what to do.

Besides, a man of the Night’s Watch had no family. None beside his sworn brothers. A man of the Night’s Watch did not concern himself with his origins. He had sworn an oath. And if the Lord Commander himself did not uphold it, who would?

_You know nothing, Jon Snow_ , he heard Ygritte say, laughing.

Jon Snow. That was his name for as long as he could remember. Jon Snow. A bastard. Or should that be Jon… whatever they called bastards in the Stormlands now?

Jon had just pushed the door open and was about to make his way up the narrow winding staircase when he heard footsteps coming from the other side of the yard. Someone was there. Someone else who could not sleep, who was searching for answers in the middle of the night? But who?

“Who goes there?” Jon called, all of a sudden incredibly tense. The situation was too much like the night his brothers had turned against him. To defend himself as quickly as possible, he closed the fingers of his right hand around Longclaw’s hilt. He would not make the same mistake again.

“It is I.” a voice answered, sounding strangely apprehensive and  - insecure?

The last person Jon would have expected.

The king. His…father.

What was he doing in the courtyard in the middle of the night? Was he looking for him? But if so, did that mean that he … knew? Yet where could he have found out about…? Or had he known all along and was now trying to lift a weight from his conscience by telling Jon what had happened? Before he set out for King’s Landing?

His grip on Longclaw relaxed a bit now he knew he was not being threatened. Somehow, Jon was curious what would happen. Let Stannis decide how to approach the subject.

 

He was awake. That was unusual, but actually Stannis had expected it.

Jon had seemed less than certain at the evening’s meeting. He had spoken with some fervour, true, and Stannis did not doubt he meant every word he had said. But Jon was the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. And he knew all too well he was supposed to stay neutral. It was not the duty of the Watch to meddle in the affairs of the realm.

Was this the reason Jon had left his quarters? Perhaps he had needed time on his own, to contemplate his actions. Something else they shared.

As he approached the Guard’s Tower, Stannis felt his tension beginning to lessen. Davos was right. He would tell Jon exactly what had happened and how he had come to his conclusion. They had had their disagreements in the past, most notably when Jon had refused his offer to legitimise him as heir to Winterfell. But if there was one thing Stannis had been appreciating from the beginning about the young Lord Commander, it was his ability to stay calm even if he heard unpleasant news.

Jon would not react rashly.  Maybe he would accept his explanation. Perhaps – and where had that come from – he would even be glad to learn what had really happened. 

 

For a while, they simply stood where they were, a metre apart from each other, silent, contemplating their reaction. Both were careful not to let the other know what they were feeling, which was especially hard for Stannis.

Stannis, who had been so used to keeping his emotions to himself, was struggling to think clearly while he observed the young man standing motionless next to the wooden doors.  He was beginning to realise that his intuition had not betrayed him. Jon shared more with her than just these incredibly silvery grey eyes. His whole attitude,  especially his often quick temper and  his determination – he was a perfect mixture of both his parents. Stannis Baratheon and Lyanna Stark.

But would Jon accept the whole story? He had had a caring adoptive father in Eddard Stark. He had spent most of his life at Winterfell, learning the ways of the North. Jon was a Northman, that was where his allegiance lay. There and with the Night’s Watch. Would he be persuaded to…?

“What can I do for you, Your Grace?” Jon asked quietly. The tone of his voice betrayed nothing of the inner chaos he was experiencing. He was shaking, wondering what he was about to hear.

Stannis coughed to clear his throat.

“There is something I need to tell you, Lord Commander. Something important which I had kept to myself for a very long time. You may have many questions for me once you have heard it. And you may ask everything you want to know. But please listen to me first, Jon.”

Jon wondered at the sudden change in Stannis. He had almost sounded gentle. Like someone preparing to tell an unpleasant truth to a person he cared for. And the king had addressed him by his first name. For the first time.

Making an effort not to give away the fact that he already knew what Stannis had to say, Jon nodded. “Would you perhaps follow me to my quarters, Your Grace? It sounds like you have something to say that should not be heard by many.”

Stannis accepted and climbed up the winding staircase in the Guards’Tower with Jon.

Once they had entered the Lord Commander’s study, Jon closed the door behind them and lit a candle on his desk. “What is it you want to tell me, Your Grace?” he asked, sitting down in his reading chair, keeping his eyes fixed on the carpet.

Stannis settled in the chair opposite him and took a deep breath. “I do not exactly know how to begin. It all started at Harrenhal, almost nineteen years ago. Lord Whent had staged a tourney in his daughter’s honour, the greatest tourney the Realm had ever seen. I attended the festivities together with Robert, who had only a month ago sealed his betrothal to the Lady Lyanna of House Stark. I never was much of a fighter and I will not deny to you I was less than enthusiastic about accompanying my brother to this spectacle.”

Jon leaned forward, taking in every word Stannis said. That was the only part of the story the old gods had not revealed to him. The day his mother and father met. Like any child, he had always wondered what had happened on that day.

The story Stannis told was one of secrecy, of two young people who were still finding their path in life, of shared laugther and confessions in the dark.

Lyanna had approached Stannis after the end of the feast on the fourth day. Prince Rhaegar had spent the entire evening shooting strange glances at her, which greatly troubled the young woman. She also was insecure about her betrothal to Robert and had wanted to find out what sort of a man her future husband was.

They had sat together in the castle garden, enjoying the balmy weather. The longer they had been talking to each other, the more they realised they had a lot in common. Lyanna had the same strong will and sense of justice Stannis had. Her uncomplicated attitude and positive outlook on life had fascinated the young man.

“We spent the night together.” Stannis said, avoiding Jon’s eyes. “Of course we agreed to keep it a secret the following morning. She was betrothed to my brother, who would have instantly killed me when he found out. I had almost forgotten about that night. Until I first saw you on the Wall. You instantly reminded me of Lyanna. At first I put it down to a concidence, but I am beginning to think…”

“I know what you are about to say.” Jon interrupted. “And it is no coincidence. I only found it out myself this night. I went to the godswood to ask for advice. The old gods sent me a vision. Of Lyanna’s death. I only knew that Eddard Stark had brought me home to Winterfell after the rebellion and that I was barely a month old at that time.”

Stannis clenched his hands into fists so tightly it hurt. He was not about to say that….?

“When they found Lyanna, she had just given birth to her son. She told her brother Eddard to take the boy home and raise him. When he was old enough, her son should learn who his real parents were. His mother, Lyanna of House Stark. And..” Jon paused to swallow the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat. “And his father, Stannis of House Baratheon. That boy… was me. I am your son.”

Silence fell on the room. Both were trembling, overwhelmed what they had just heard.

Slowly, Stannis raised his head to look at Jon. His deep blue eyes were strangely bright.

“Jon. Is it really true?” he whispered. “Yes. My .. uncle” – Jon still had to remind himself of that change – “told me that the visions brought by a heart tree never lie.”

“What now?” Stannis asked, his voice shaking with suppressed emotions.

Jon did not reply, but stood up and held out his hand. Hesitating only for a while, Stannis took it – and then surprised himself and his son by embracing Jon as tightly as he could.

“I  know you are a man of the Night’s Watch and you have to uphold your oath.” the king said softly. “But I promise you, you will also have me. I only wish I had known earlier.”

“There was nothing you could do... Stannis. You had no idea. Only my uncle knew, that was why he refused to talk about Lyanna. He was still haunted by her death.” Jon carefully broke the embrace and looked at his father again.

“I will keep it a secret. Until the war is over. If word got around now it would endanger both our positions.” “A wise choice.” Stannis agreed and had to smile at the fact Jon was using almost the same arguments as he had. “Only Davos knows. I had to tell him.”

“That’s what best friends are for.” Jon said smiling, thinking of Sam.

 

They spent another hour in the study, talking, answering each other’s questions, filling in blanks in their story.  The events of the night had made Stannis and Jon even more familiar and open around each other, bringing them closer together than they ever had thought possible.

At last, the king retreated to his chambers to try to get some sleep before the host left.

After he had gone, Jon walked to the window in his bedroom, looking out at the dark night sky that stretched over the castle like a velvet blanket. “Uncle Ned, I finally know the truth. I know what you have done for me… for my mother. Thank you.” he said, his eyes fixed on one particular bright star. Time to go to bed as well.  He would have to be up before sunrise to see the army out.


	4. Fulfill your oaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The army leaves Castle Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this scene reminds you of the Army of Rohan leaving for Minas Tirith in the third Lord of the Rings film - that was what I was aiming for.

The courtyard of Castle Black was packed full with riders and supply wagons.

 Stannis Baratheon’s army was at last going to set out on their long journey south. The mood among the men and women – there were also quite a few wildlings among the host – was quite upbeat. Having recovered from the battle with the white walkers, everyone was keen to be back on the road again. This time, their prospects were a lot better.

The men of the Night’s Watch had assembled in front of the King’s Tower, some still a bit bleary-eyed. The sun had not yet risen behind the thick grey clouds which would surely bring a lot of snow during the day.

Davos had exchanged his bearskin cloak for the black-and-gold one of House Baratheon. On his left shoulder the Hand’s badge was clearly visible, faintly glistening.

In a loud and clear voice, he adressed the army: “The time has come at last. You all have heard the Lord Commander’s speech last evening. You know our plan – to deliver justice to King’s Landing. You swore oaths  to King Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Now fulfill them all – for justice and freedom! For Stannis!”

“King Stannis! King Stannis and the North!”

The shouts of the  several thousand men and women rang around the courtyard. Jon watched them silently, not wanting to give anything away. Stannis had been right, Davos was truly the most loyal of them all. Only a man who really believed what he was saying would speak so strongly.

His father was sitting atop his black stallion, as always at Davos’ side. His face was as calm as always, yet Jon knew the events had moved him deeply. He was not used to such… affection from those that had sworn to fight for him.

Over the din in the yard, their eyes met.

And just for a moment, both smiled at each other.

_Good luck_ , Jon whispered so only Stannis would notice. I know you will succeed this time.

I know we will see each other again.

 

 


End file.
